#implied future torture

[whumpybobbert]

[fallenwhumpee]

“Where are they?”

Day 4: Kidnapped | Left behind | Desperation • Masterlist •

Warnings: Gun, implied future torture.

Everyone knew the mission was risky. Too risky even for an experienced team like them. Staying in the enemy territory for years and gaining intelligence, making sure it made to the right hands instead of possible spies. But the team was doing well for four years with gaining high ranks and making a network for gossip carrying possible truth.

They were invited to most of the places where valuable information circulated, and with some luck, none of the team's cover was blown.

Until now.

Right Hand panicked as the guns turned to Leader, but Leader was only calm, staring at them subtly.

The code was for leaving them behind.

"I guess I stand out too much among cockroaches," Leader spat Whumper's face as if they met in a place full of their army instead of the enemy's.

"And that's your ticket down to the interrogation room."

"This doesn't fit with the idea of good hospitality your side offers for the deserters." Leader dared.

"But you're not a deserter, are you?" Whumper got closer to Leader, Right Hand's breath hitching. No one noticed that, except Leader, of course. And they gave Right Hand an assuring smile.

"Oh, our situation is pretty amusing. And it will be even more when I get to play with the best soldier that the enemy found worthy to my reputation."

And Leader burst into a laughter. Whumper calmly waited for them to finish, but Leader slammed their head to Whumper's nose, a break sound echoing.

The room burst into chaos, Right Hand's only thought getting the team out. With a desperate attempt, they gathered everyone, attacking anyone keeping them from leaving.

"Where are they?" Youngest cried when they reached their home for four years. Right Hand couldn't imagine what happened if Youngest was actually in that chaos. They had to get back.

All they could do was give a big hug despite their whole body trembling.

"We will get them back," they murmured. "We will get them back."

[darkthingshappen]

May 9th: "You Can Cry, It's Okay"

Hide and seek | Phone call | Midnight

@themerrywhumpofmay

Whumpee crouched, terrified behind the crates piled in the alleyway. 

“Whumpee…”  Whumper called.  “I know you’re here.  There’s really no need to play these games.” 

Whumpee covered their mouth to silence the whimper they felt building inside them.  Their fingers shook as they dialed the emergency number on the stolen cell phone.  Please let someone answer.  Please.  Pick up.  Pick up! 

“911, what is your emergency.”

Whumpee wedged themselves further back into their hiding spot.  They could still hear whumper calling for them from the other end of the alley. 

“Whumpee, if you make me play hide and seek, you really aren’t going to like it when I find you.”

Whumpee glanced down at their arms, scarred, bruised and burned from the last month or so of captivity.  They couldn’t go back.  They’d rather die. 

“911, please state the nature of your emergency.”

“This is whumpee.  I’ve been kidnapped and I got away.  I’m hiding, but the man that took me is trying to find me.  He’s nearly here.  Can you trace the call and send me help?”

“I’m sorry sir, I can barely hear you.  Can you please speak up?”

“I need help!  Please, send help!” Whumpee whispered as loud as they dared. 

“You need help?”

“Yes!” they hissed into the phone.

“Can you please tell me your location, sir.”

“I’m… I don’t know.  I just ran.  Can you track the phone?”

“I’m sorry sir, location services are turned off on the phone you are calling from.”

Whumpee wanted to cry.  Of course they were turned off.  Of course they were!

“If you could locate the two nearest cross streets, then I can get you the help you need.  Without that, I can attempt to send help to near the cell tower you are pinging.”

Whumpee’s breathing ticked up a notch.  They were in the middle of the alley, in the middle of the large block.  It was an industrial area, not a residential area.  There was no one around at midnight.  Tears stung their eyes.  Fucking Whumper was going to find them and it would all have been for nothing!

They crept forward… They could make a dash for it.  Whumpee looked down at his equally brutalized legs.  It was a wonder he’d made it this far.  Every wound, every tight scarring of his skin seemed to itch and burn with the effort it had taken to get out of that damned warehouse and get here. 

“Whumpee… You’re making me angry.  And you know how I get when I’m angry…”  Whumper’s voice was so close now.  So very close. 

Whumpee felt the tremors start at the top of their head and soon their entire body was shaking.  A shiny black leather dress shoe came into view.  Whumpee shrank back as far as they could into the shadows. 

“Sir.  Sir, are you still there?  I’m sending officers to as close to your location as I can get them…”  The voice on the other end of the emergency call sounded loud in the silence of the sequestered alley.  FUCK!

Whumpee covered the speaker with their fingers but they knew it was too late.  The shoe turned and they looked up into the grinning face of whumper. 

“Oh, there you are.”

Whumpee gulped.  “I-I-I-I…” 

“Shhhhh.  It’s okay to cry now.  You’re going to be doing a lot of that over the next few weeks.  I’m very disappointed in you.  It’s a good thing I found you when I did, isn’t it?”

Whumpee felt their conditioning kick in and they nodded their head. 

“That’s right.  Now give me back my phone.”

Whumpee held up the phone in trembling hands.  They hadn’t disconnected the call.

Whumper looked at the phone.  “Tsk, tsk, tsk.  I thought you were smarter than that, whumpee.”  They held the phone up to their ear. 

“Yes, hi, who am I speaking with?”

Whumpee couldn’t hear the answer as they cowered at whumper’s feet. 

“Uh huh, great.  This is Governor Whumper.  I’m sorry to say that this was a crank call.  Some kid stole my phone and I only just tracked it down and retrieved it.”  There was a pause.  “Yeah.  Sorry for the inconvenience… Uh huh.  Have the chief give me a call tomorrow.  Not a problem.  Yep.  Great to talk to you too.  You’re doing a fine job.  Fantastic.  I hope I’ve done a good enough job that I can count on your vote next election.  Thank you.  Uh huh.  You too.  Bye now.”

Whumper hung up the call and then turned their gaze back to whumpee. 

“It’s time to go home, whumpee.  I’m going to make damn sure you can’t pull a stunt like this again.  Let’s go.  Now!”

Whumpee stood on shaky legs as Whumper put a hand on the back of their neck, squeezing hard, making them hunch over as they walked toward the limousine waiting at the opposite end of the alleyway. 

“You somehow got your collar off, I see.”

Whumpee whimpered. 

“We’ll see if you can manage to do that again when it’s welded around your neck permanently!” they growled in a low, threatening hiss in whumpee’s ear. 

Whumpee felt the fear pool in their stomach.  They reached the limo long before they were ready.  The door opened and whumper shoved them into the door frame, head bouncing painfully off the metal before they collapsed to the floor inside. 

A moment later, whumper had eased into the vehicle and onto the seat, shutting the door firmly behind them.  Whumpee made themselves as small as they could on the floor of the car. 

“There.  We’re all alone now.  You can cry, it’s okay.  I’ve got the doctor on standby when we get home.  I know exactly what to do to make sure you can’t run anymore.”

Whumpee did cry then.  They’d blown the only chance they were ever going to have to escape the sadistic man that held their life in their hand.  The tears flowed and whumpee believed they might never stop. 

[onlywhump]

Unconventional Restraints

Masterlist | Next

No. 1 - A LITTLE OUT OF THE ORDINARY

Adverse Effects | Unconventional Restraints | "This wasn't supposed to happen"

Tw for// just whumpy violence and implied past (and future) torture

Whumpee didn’t know how they’d managed to get themself in such a situation. Their back was forced up against a pole, wrists tied tight behind them with some kind of cord or electrical wire. They were losing feeling in their hands, their fingers tingling painfully. They shook their arms in an attempt to wake them up, but it was useless. Their knees were beginning to ache, and sitting on their ankles (bound in the same fashion) was probably not the best of decisions.

Their boots had been thrown away when they had been jumped by the hunters. Their assaulters sat across the alleyway on a stack of pallets, talking indistinctly. At that point they would have begun screaming, yanking at their restraints and finding an object to cut themself free and fight. The feeling, or rather, the lack of it, in their hands was worrying, though, and they didn’t want to cause permanent damage if they fought too hard. Was that even possible?

“Hey!” Their voice echoed across the alleyway. Where was Caretaker? Where was the rest of their crew? Their communicator was hooked to the front their belt, taunting them with its jingles as they struggled to reach it. At a point, it even began to beep. It was Caretaker. It was definitely Caretaker, they knew it for a fact. They felt a tear slip from their eye as they slumped against the pole.

It set in then that nobody was coming for them. That they were alone. Wherever this bounty hunter was taking them, they had to get out alone. The thought of being alone scared them. They had worked alone for years, only joining a team after being rescued about four months ago. Already they felt sick just thinking about abandoning that lifestyle. They didn’t want to be alone anymore.

That was when they noticed the hunter approaching them. They were a shadow, a monster, growing larger with each menacing stride they took. Soon they were towering above them, reaching about seven feet at the minimum (they guessed). Fear spiked in them as the hunter knelt, coming down to a little above Whumpee’s eye level. They realized they were shaking as gloved hands cupped their head, tilted their chin up, and forced their gaze into the empty mask of their assaulter. They were so small.

They stared straight into the gleaming polarized lens, their battered face, streaked with blood and frozen in fear, staring back at them. The hunter turned Whumpee’s head from side to side. Looked them up and down. Forced their mouth open and took an identification sample.

“It’s them, all right,” the hunter called to their partner, who responded in a language Whumpee couldn’t understand if they tried. “Yeah.” Whumpee snapped at the hand as it tried to caress their cheek. The hunter jerked their hand away, cursing under their breath. “Want me to gag them?” The hunter’s partner grunted and they pulled a length of fabric from their pocket. Did they always store things of that sort in a place so readily available for use? Whumpee jerked their head back and forth avoiding the hunter’s hands. “Come on-“ Whumpee managed to nick their index finger with their teeth.

Stars exploded across their vision as a blow was delivered to their cheek, the back of their head knocked into the pole with a clang. They gasped as it happened again, the hunter tying the fabric around their head as they tried to reorient themself. They began to shake their head, as if it would make the gag fall away.

It was happening again. Their breathing became more frantic as the hunter pulled their communicator from their belt.

“You won’t be needing this anymore,” they sneered, dropping it to the pavement. There was a small crack on impact, followed by a crunch as the hunter’s boot heel came down on it, sparks flying as the communicator’s electronics were crushed. Whumpee choked out a sob, straining against the wires.

“Don’t worry. They treat you well if you behave.” Something sharp pricked their wrist, and they soon felt drowsy. “Sweet dreams,” the hunter sang, beginning the process of untying his wrists. Whumpee was too tired to fight, their vision quickly fading to black.

[kim-poce]

Halloween

CW: implied future torture, long term captivity, knife.

=-=

In the small, all white call he had no way to track the days, there was no clock on the wall, no significant change of temperature, no talk about the outside world. Nothing.

Except for a single day in the year.

“Hello, darling!” Whumper said as they walked in, they were holding a knife and wearing a white apron stained with blood, seeing them like this was normal, but usually the blood is Whumpee's. “Missed me?”

Whumpee nodded. Adding an imaginary tally to his probably not accurate captivity calendar. 5 years, it's the fifth Halloween he goes through inside this cell of nothingness. Another anniversary in his miserable life.

“Smile dear!” Whumper said, “It's a happy day!”

“Yes. I'm sorry,” Whumpee said, swallowing hard, trying not to fix his eyes on the knife.

It was Halloween, the one day in the year he had to track time and the day in the year Whumper's torture was she worst.

=-=

[itsawhumpderfullife]

Whump Prompt #290

“Oh no you don’t!” Caretaker exclaimed as they watched Whumper bolt, bounding after them.

In their weakened state, Whumper’s breaths began to increase exponentially as they ran, getting more and more wheezy. It showed as both of them matched each other until they didn’t, Caretaker getting closer and closer until-

Snap.

Whumper’s face slammed to the ground. The smell of the dirt immediately invaded their nostrils before they began to to push themselves up-

Only to have one of their arms fall out from under him as soon as they were about to bolt again.

“Ooof!” Squeezing their eyes shut tight, Whumper exhaled hard through their teeth as pain radiated through their shoulder.

As a force began to move their hand, they finally looked up to see Caretaker with handcuffs latched around Whumper’s wrist tethered to their own wrist.

Whumper slapped a hand over their mouth as the smug smile on Caretaker’s face nearly had them vacating the contents of their stomach.

“You’re going nowhere, Whumper. It’s high time you got to experience the consequences of your atrocities on Whumpee and the others.”

Leaning down as Caretaker tugged Whumper’s wrist towards them, forcing Whumper to come nearly nose to nose. Caretaker’s hot breath burned the bridge of Whumper’s nose. At least if Caretaker’s breath smelled, Whumper could revel in the fact that Caretaker was not taking care of themself because of them.

But the sweet smell of mint that covered them instead only brought them deeper into the frozen state they were in as Caretaker loomed over them.

“I don’t think you know exactly what I’m capable of and willing to do. I do hope you’re anything as strong as Whumpee, or else you might die before I’m finsished with you.”

[cowboy-anon]

Meh, not my favorite, but darn it, it's content! I've got another request that's got me like 👀 lol, but for now, enjoy some jealous Apple as requested by @sideblogformindtrash!

Quick CW: Jealousy, Stockholme Syndrome, beverage mention (?), implied future torture, implied neglect, a pretty vaguely implied lewd comment

Jealous

When Master Clay’s friend comes over that afternoon, Apple is told to stay quiet and out of the way. And Benji… right now, they’re the center of attention.

Master Clay’s friend, Will, slings an arm over Master Clay’s shoulder and laughs. He makes some comment about what Benji should be wearing instead of this, and Master Clay… he’s smiling with him.

Apple has been glaring straight at him from behind the couch for hours now, but this, this whole touchy feely thing? Master Clay should be smiling at him like that. Apple knows exactly what he’s doing when he slinks out of his corner and pours drinks for the two of them, and it’s no accident when he brings the drinks over for them and spills Will’s all over his lap.

Will shoots off the couch, and it must be reflexive but it only makes the drink drip down his slacks more. Apple thinks he was stupid to do that. What is Master Clay doing hanging out with such stupid people when he’s here and smart and also here? He’s right here! All the time! If Master Clay ever wanted someone to talk fashion about, Apple could do that! He could talk about anything Master Clay wanted ever.

“Hey!” Master Clay shouts. Benji is standing by him, maybe stunned but more likely afraid to say anything in case they accidentally make things worse.

Apple bows his head from where he’s kneeling on the floor, still holding Master Clay’s drink. “I’m very sorry, sir,” he says to Will, not looking at him. He’s not sorry at all.

Master Clay gets up and instead of checking to see how Apple’s doing after all this, he goes to the little closet in the hall and grabs a towel for Will. Apple nearly scoffs. It’s not his fault Will decided to stand up and make an even bigger mess.

Master Clay gives Will the towel and then turns to Apple, eyes angry but cold. He points at the hallway. “Go to the guest room and stay there,” he growls. “I’ll deal with you when Will leaves.”

“But—” Apple never argues, ever, but he can’t just leave Master Clay alone with touchy feely, stupidly reflexive Will.

“Go!”

Apple sets Master Clay’s drink on the coffee table, on his side so stupid Will doesn’t try to drink it, and then he crawls to the guest room and closes the door behind him. Through it, Apple can hear Master Clay apologizing, and later they’re laughing again, loud and so so happy. Will is making Master Clay happy?

He wants to die.

[sadistgalore]

Twelve Days of Whumpmas: Three French Hens (Nicholas)

does the next day still count? eh, posting it anyways.

note: again, i feel like no one knows the characters i'm writing for these pieces, so brief summary of Nic. basically; abusive parents, had a younger sister, he went to join the marines, sister went missing and died, he came back and became a detective, Harper's partner and kind of boyfriend but is now starting to get feelings for Beth, and has a best friend named Scott who also became a cop when he left the army. last pieces he was in was this one, this one, and that one. okay byeeee

Taglist: @tropes-for-my-md-daydreams, @whumptakesthecake, @all-whumped-out, @distinctlywhumpthing, @painsandconfusion

CW: captivity whump, voluntarily bashing a person's own shoulder against a door (there is a def a better tag to use than this), referenced arson, defiant whumpee, implied future torture and brainwashing, referenced kidnapping, brainwasing, beating

For @amonthofwhump's Twelve Days of Whumpmas, using the prompts "Betrayal" and "Candlelight."

--

Nicholas Malcolm slowly got up from the floor again, chest heaving with exhausted breaths. His shoulder strained in pain, but he ignored it. He planted his feet on the ground and set his eyes on the sturdy locked door, and ran forward.

He let out a large “oof” as he fell to the ground, shoulder protesting loudly now. With how many times he had repeated this action, it was surely to be bruised by now. Nic gasped in pain and scrunched his eyes, holding his arm to somehow drown out the pulsating agony.

“Gotta- fuck, gotta get up, Malcolm,” he grunted to himself, trying to channel his old drill sergeant from boot camp. He barely managed to get on his feet before he fell back down on, unfortunately his shoulder. The veteran cried out, now clutching his arm so hard that it was causing pain.

“That had to hurt,” he heard an amused voice say, looking up to see his cell door open, and a man standing in front of it.

“You,” Nic growled, venom in his eyes. It was that same fucking man who broke into his apartment and set it on fire. The same man that was supposedly there to “pick up” Elizabeth. Nic wanted answers, now. “Where’s Beth, you son of a bitch?”

The man dug his hands into his pockets, leaning against the door frame. “Beats me. I just delivered the package and got my payment. That blondie is long gone by now.”

Nicholas yelled as he lunged forward, but was swiftly brought down by a hard kick to his face. He groaned and fell to the floor once more, blood running down his chin. He heard a click of a tongue and footsteps coming towards him, then he felt a hand on his face.

“You need to learn how to settle down, pretty boy. Now, enough fighting. If you ever want a chance at getting out of here alive, you need to listen to me. Got that?”

Nic said nothing.

“I expect a ‘Yes, sir,’ from now on, Malcolm.”

“Kiss my ass.”

He heard the man sigh. “Creative, but we’ll train that language out of you soon enough. But since I’m one for introductions, I’ll still grace you with my voice despite your disobedience. First off, consider yourself very lucky. You were supposed to burn with your apartment, but an anonymous person decided to spare you. Once I heard, I decided to take you in.”

Nic groaned as he leaned back on his rear, sitting almost casually on the ground with his captor. He just needed to gain his strength back, then he’s going to knock this guy down like the Macho Man himself. “Why?” He asked, deciding to add something instead of letting this man talk forever.

“With your military background and stellar detective experience, you’ll be a great candidate for my militia.”

“Militia? You fuckers have an army?”

The man chuckled. “In a way. They basically hire a bunch of teams to work for them, and I, Braxton Marsh, run one of the most strongest and reliable militias the Jaguars employ.”

Braxton Marsh? Sounds like the name of a kid that skateboards and does acid.

“Good for you, why the fuck do you think I’ll want to work for you?”

His captor, Braxton, just smiled as he stood up. “Oh, I know you’re not going to willingly join me now. But a few months of our lovely training sessions-well, you would probably describe them as torture-will straighten you right up.”

No. Fucking no. Nic was not going to allow himself to be a pawn in these people’s games. He’s just gotta get out, find Beth and Harper, and expose these bastards.

Wait. Harper.

“Hey, what did you do with my partner? She was investigating you guys as well,” He spoke up, almost leaning forward to Braxton as the man walked to the other side of his cell.

“Your partner? What partner?” The man asked, not really caring as he unveiled a hidden panel in the wall and began pushing buttons.

“Harper Winston. She investigated you guys with Beth and went missing two months ago. You guys obviously took her.”

Braxton looked at him dumbfounded. “Winston? As in Bruce’s daughter? We shouldn’t have her since her brother’s still alive. I knew Mrs. Carrien had a roommate or something, never knew it was her.” He shrugged his shoulders and pulled out his phone. “Huh, small world.”

Nicholas didn’t understand the first half of what that man said, but he was fucking pissed. How could they not have her? Her and Beth looked into the Jaguars for years, and Harper got all hot headed when the police got information on that Dark guy. If she’s not here, where the fuck could she be?

“That doesn’t answer my question. I need to find-” He was cut off by a door opening, and his own surprise. Standing in the door was the last person he expected to see.

“Langdon. Good to see you,” Braxton said with a smile as he shook the young man’s hand. It was Scott, fucking Scott. His best friend from the army.

“S-Scott?” He asked, mouth hung open in surprise. But Scott Langdon didn’t respond as he kept his eyes focused on Braxton. Why wasn’t Scott the least bit concerned that his friend was held in captivity?

“Langdon, I wanted you to teach our new recruit a lesson,” His captor said with a stupid grin, slinging his arm around Scott’s shoulder.

“What lesson, sir?”

Braxton pulled out his baton and handed it to his soldier. “That becoming one of my men means you get no fucking allies.” He leaned forward towards Nic, and whispered into his ear. “In case you haven’t noticed, Malcolm, your buddy here doesn’t care about you. Hasn’t ever since he trained with me. Now, pay close attention, because this will be you one day.”

Nic stared at his captor for a moment, then darted his eyes to his fellow veteran who was now gripping the baton in his hand. “Scott, come on man. We’re friends, we’re fucking brothers. You saved my life back in Afghanistan.”

Scott didn’t look the least bit remorseful as he stepped closer, finally raising the thick and black baton over his friend’s head; Nic panicked. “Scott! What the fuck are you-”

Blow after blow rained down on him, hitting with such force that his bones felt as if they were about to crack. Nic didn’t have time to feel shame as he screamed from the assault, a few tears dripping down his face. There was no break, almost as if Scott was a machine. God, he can’t believe the person causing his own torture was his best friend.

“Please!” He cried out, reaching out an arm that was quickly hit down. “Scott-”

“Hit his shoulder,” Braxton ordered, and Scott followed. Nic saw white as his already bruised shoulder was pounded with the baton mercilessly. He could barely even manage a plea as he wailed, so torn between betrayal and pain that he couldn’t think straight.

Luckily, he didn’t even need to try to think any longer before he passed out.

.

.

.

“Three turtle doves,”

“Dude, that’s so clichè.”

Nic sighed as he stared up at his phone, putting down the lighter. “It’s called being romantic, Scott. Ever heard of it?”

“Yeah, in like every fuc-fucking romcom ever. Can’t come up with something original?” Scott asked, voice glitching out for a brief second thanks to Nicholas’s shitty wifi.

“Oh, fuck you.”

“Love to, but I think Harper’s got that one tonight,” Scott said with a grin, raising his eyebrows.

Nic gave him an annoyed glare and rolled his eyes, going to the mirror to straighten up his tie. “I’m doing whatever Harper wants to do. This is our first date, or hang-out, or whatever she wants it to be, so I’m going to make it as nice as possible.”

He heard Scott hum in disagreement through the phone. “We both know Harper. She’s not one for romantic dinners.”

Nic stared at himself in the mirror with a sorrowful face, then turned to the table filled with a fancy dinner he cooked himself set on an elaborate table in perfect dim lighting. He hung his head down in defeat. “You’re right, what the fuck am I doing?”

“Not being you, that’s what. The Nicholas Malcom I know doesn’t dress in fancy suits or cook a seared chicken with collard greens. He wears T-shirts in a size too big and eats either Chinese or pizza, no inbetween. That’s what Harper likes about you,” Scott finished, a small smile on his face. Nic noticed this and laughed.

“Alright, alright. Don’t get all mushy on me now, Langdon. Hopefully I’ll have enough time to change before-”

Scott noticed the doorbell ring on the other end of the call. “Oh fuck,” he heard Nic say before his friend rushed to the door and opened it. Scott picked up faint conversations and laughter, and lit up when he saw Harper come into frame. She was wearing a beautiful short black dress and a leather jacket, somehow combining the two personalities of Nic.

“Hey, Scott,” she waved.

“Hey, Harper,” he waved back, throwing his hands up when the camera was put on his best friend instead.

“Alright, fuck off now, Scott,” Nic grumbled.

“Oh come on, can’t I be the third wheel?” He said with a mock pout.

“No, get a girlfriend or something.”

Harper moved back into frame. “Then we can double date!”

Scott laughed alone in his apartment, enjoying Harper’s constant energetic personality and his friend’s impatient attitude. “Alright, better listen to this soldier and get to fucking off. And Nic?” He quickly paused before adding, “Wear a condom!”